


Jeeves and the Men From the Future

by Niektete (therealfroggy), therealfroggy



Category: A-Team (2010), Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/Niektete, https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The A-Team, on one of their missions come across a time machine and inadvertently activate it. They wind up in 1920s London, and who do they meet there? Why, Bertie Wooster and his faithful valet, of course!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Men From the Future

“I say, Jeeves? One doesn't like to be rude, but what the devil are four strangely attired men doing in our kitchen?”

Face looked up and met the blue, wide gaze of yet another guy dressed as if going to an important business dinner. Three-piece suit and a tie with a disturbing pattern of green and orange. Where did these guys come from? Or rather, where _were_ they, since the team seemed to be surrounded by items from a bygone era? Face was sure he'd seen an “ice box” like that in a museum of domestic history somewhere, and Hannibal's cigar was smouldering in an ash tray that had to be of original art deco design.

“I am afraid I have been remiss in keeping you informed, sir. The, ah, gentlemen in question came through the time machine,” Jeeves said.

Jeeves was the man who had met the team when they stumbled out of that fucked-up machine and into a kitchen. Hannibal had drawn a gun at first, but the dark-haired man, who was wearing pinstriped trousers and a morning coat like he was a funeral agent or something, had assured them that he meant them no harm and that he wasn't armed. He'd introduced himself and was just explaining what had happened when they were interrupted.

“Time machine?” the newcomer, a tall, gangly man with fair hair and eyes almost as blue as Hannibal's, repeated. He was in his twenties, and he didn't seem too bright. “I say, Jeeves, that sounds a bit thick, what?”

“I assure you it is quite true, sir. An acquaintance of mine, a gentleman inventor hailing from Surrey, entrusted the device to me upon his death. I have been keeping it locked away for some years, sir, but this afternoon it was activated,” Jeeves said. He sounded completely expressionless to Face.

“Well, I'll be dashed. And here I always thought that was the door to the pantry.”

“Unfortunately, no, sir. As to the gentlemen's attire, I could not say. I took the liberty of offering our guests some refreshments. Shall I prepare tea, sir?” Jeeves asked.

“Oh, rather. No reason to let standards drop, eh, old chap? Just bring it into the living room, will you,” the younger man said. Then he turned to the team and smiled brightly. Face found himself a little disarmed by that smile.

“Bertram Wooster at your service. Tea will be ready soon, Jeeves tells me. Time travel must be beastly tiresome business, what?”

Hannibal stuck out a hand, politely introducing himself. “Colonel 'Hannibal' Smith, US Army. This is my team; Lieutenant Peck, Captain Murdock and Sergeant Baracus. And if you have anything stronger to go with that tea, we'll be grateful.”

Face couldn't help staring as they situated themselves in a living room; a big, airy space, with incredibly old-fashioned furniture. When they'd gone bursting into that old cabin out in the woods, he hadn't exactly expected them to turn up in the past. Hell, he hadn't actually believed time travel was possible, until Murdock had proved it by sending them all...

“What year is this?” he asked, glancing at the newspaper lying on the coffee table.

“Last I checked, it was 1924,” Wooster said, still smiling. “I say, have you ever been a minstrel?”

This seemed to be directed at BA, who scowled. “What you talkin' bout, fool?”

Wooster looked taken aback. “I'm sorry?”

Hannibal put a placating hand on BA's shoulder. “Sergeant Baracus is a soldier, mister...”

“Oh, my friends call me Bertie.”

“Well, we're all soldiers. And times have changed a great deal where we come from,” Hannibal said. He didn't seem very comfortable in this pristine setting.

“Oh, I didn't mean to offend,” this guy Bertie said, and he sounded honestly worried. “I only ask because I just had the grand tuned yesterday, and I haven't had a chance to try it yet. Minstrels always sing real corkers. I suppose you military chaps aren't musical, what?”

“I am, Bertie,” Murdock said, and he was almost bouncing in his seat. “That your piano over there?”

Face grinned. Loopy, meet Unhinged. Even as the two men sat down side by side at the piano, he could tell that they'd have been great friends if they'd been born in the same time period. As it were, Face really didn't know how to feel about the fact that they'd managed to get themselves into a different time period in the first place.

Jeeves reappeared with a tray, and cups of tea seemed to magically appear out of nowhere. They were followed by glasses of whiskey and soda, sandwiches, and a small dish of biscuits in short order. Face stared at the spread before him. The man said tea, and proceeded to dish out a complete meal like that? He just had to stay for dinner!

“This is the story about Minnie the Moocher,” Murdock sang, and Bertie crowed with pleasure and followed him. The two of them were singing to bring the roof down. They even did the call-and-response thing with the refrain.

“Your, ah, friend likes his music, doesn't he?” Hannibal asked, relighting his cigar.

Jeeves didn't even bat an eyelash at the indoor smoking, but his whole person just went frosty when Face tried to put his feet up on a chair. The conman quickly put them back down, feeling like he'd just gotten caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

“My employer is very fond of the music hall,” Jeeves explained, and there was this strain in his voice as he said it, as if he didn't like the music at all but knew better than to say so. “He is an accomplished pianist, though his tastes tend more towards the... modern.”

“So, how are we getting home?” Face asked, looking from Jeeves to Hannibal. The two men seemed to have sized each other up and found the other adequate.

“It would appear that you located the future version of the time machine,” Jeeves said, talking a little louder over the sound of the two loonies at the piano. “I have never operated the device, but it seems reasonable that you should return to your own time if you reverse the operation from our version of the machine.”

“Hang on, I can't hear myself think,” Hannibal said, pulling on his cigar. “Murdock! Come here for a moment.”

The music stopped, and Murdock came bounding over to the sofa. “That's a great instrument,” he grinned, and looked excitedly at Jeeves. “Do you play?”

“He does, but he doesn't like admitting to it,” Bertie said, coming over to join them. “We'll see what we can do after a few scotches.”

Jeeves shot the other man a quick look, but it was too shielded for Face to surmise anything from it.

“Murdock, what buttons did you press before we broke into that cabin in the woods?” Face asked, placing a hand on Murdock's arm to anchor him in the here and now. They really needed him to focus, or they might never get home.

“I can't recall,” the pilot said, his fingers twitching a little, “but I'm sure I could do it again if I saw the panel.”

“You'll have to do it in reverse order,” Hannibal said, and he, too, placed a hand on Murdock's shoulder. “I trust you to bring us home. Think you can do that for us, captain?”

Murdock blushed a little, looking from his boss to his friend and back again. “Of course, boss. Ain't nothin' I can't do for you.” And he gave Face a little peck on the cheek.

“I say!” Bertie exclaimed, gaping rather charmingly at the three men seated on the sofa and the fourth perching on the arm of it. “Are you inverts?”

Jeeves cleared his throat discreetly. “Sir -”

“No, no, Jeeves, this is my one chance to find out,” the blonde man insisted. “They're from the future, Jeeves! How many years do they keep you in chokey? Can you get that poet chappie, what's his name, Jeeves?”

“Wilde, sir.”

“That's the one. Can you get Wilde's poems in print? Will they ever let chaps like us alone?” he insisted. Bertie seemed capable of a lot of words in one breath. Sort of like Murdock on his highs.

“He ain't right in the head, is he?” BA asked, turning to Jeeves. “Fool gone crazy?”

Jeeves seemed to frost over again. “I can assure you that mister Wooster is quite sane, sergeant. And I must admit I am also rather curious as to the answers to his questions.”

“He's asking us if we're...” Face began.

“Homosexuals, lieutenant. Pardon the candour, gentlemen, but you appear to be quite... at ease regarding the display of affection between yourselves,” Jeeves explained. Listening to him was making Face's head hurt; he had to focus so much to just understand the man.

“We're in the roaring twenties, chaps,” Murdock said, slipping right into the British accent. “They didn't have gay parades.”

“Parades? What parades? They are rather gay, aren't they? What with all the flowers and balloons and whatnot,” Bertie said, eyes shining.

Hannibal grinned. “Well, to begin with, in our time, gay means homosexual,” he said. “And they have their own parades to celebrate their...”

“Pride in their sexual preference,” Murdock supplied, patting Bertie sympathetically on the shoulder. “Poor chap, is it still two years in Reading?”

“And how,” Bertie agreed sadly. “A chap can't even tell the world that he loves another chap without being bunged in chokey, much less indulge in whatsitcalled with him. Jeeves won't even let me wear lavender gloves or green carnations, dash it.”

Jeeves seemed to sigh in resignation, only he didn't actually utter a sound. “Sir, we have discussed this. It would endanger your reputation and your standing in society. Your aunts, sir -”

Bertie waved a desolate hand. “I know, Jeeves, I know. Bally unfair, is what it is. But tell me more of the future. Will Jeeves and I ever see these parades?”

The rest of the team and Jeeves left Murdock to tell Bertie all about being gay in the twenty-first century, the two men retreating towards another part of the room. The others had some planning to do.

“I think it would be best if you took a night's rest and gathered some supplies before attempting to travel back,” Jeeves said, addressing Hannibal. “If you find yourself in the wrong time, it would be better to be prepared for it.”

“We've got weapons and tech equipment,” Hannibal said. “The latter doesn't work here, because you've obviously not invented satellites yet, but it'll work once we get back to our time. I think it's best if we disturb the events of history as little as possible, don't you?”

“Undoubtedly, colonel.” Jeeves agreed. “If I might make the suggestion, we may find some appropriate clothing for your acquisitions officer, and he can find what you need in London. I should be happy to provide assistance, if mister Wooster is agreeable.”

Face frowned. “What, you have to listen to him? Don't get me wrong, he seems like a great guy, but aren't you, well, the brains of the operation?”

Jeeves' lips quirked ever so slightly, and Face could have sworn the other man was dying to smile.

“Mister Wooster is not an intellectual man,” he said, and something in his expression seemed to soften. “But he is the master of this household, and I will respect his wishes. He is a kind-hearted gentleman, and will undoubtedly be pleased to assist you in any way he can.”

BA seemed very uncomfortable through all this. “Boss,” he said finally, “this the twenties, right? They still had that segregation thing going.”

“We're only staying until tomorrow, BA, and only Face will leave the apartment,” Hannibal said. “History's a fucked-up place, ain't nothing we can do about it.”

The four men still seated around the tea tray began putting together a list, with Jeeves providing helpful remarks on what they could get where and what items they might substitute for the more modern equivalents. As it was still early in the afternoon, it was decided that Jeeves would go with Face to get all the stuff they would need, and that Hannibal and BA would keep Murdock in check in the flat. Bertie broke off from his and Murdock's discussion of cricket to insist that he treat them all to dinner later.

“Sir,” Jeeves said, folding the list up and handing it to Face, “I believe you and lieutenant Peck are of fairly similar stature. Would you be amenable to lending the lieutenant one of your suits?”

“Of course, old top,” Bertie said, springing to his feet. “But he's rather wider than yours truly in the shoulders, what?”

“I am sure we shall be able to find him something suitable, sir,” Jeeves said pleasantly, and sort of faded out of view. Face wondered how he did that; the guy could have been a co-op man, no troubles. When he returned, he was holding a measuring tape and going after Face's shoulders with it.

Hannibal grinned. “Finally, huh, kid?”

“I beg pardon?” Bertie said, cocking his head to one side.

Face was growing more and more fascinated with the guy's innocent air; a grown man – in his mid twenties, by the looks of it – acting like he didn't quite understand that the world was doing its own thing around him. It was adorable, really. He reminded Face of Murdock in more ways than one.

“The lieutenant's been _dying_ for a bespoke suit ever since we, uh, left the Army,” Hannibal said with a grin. “His last one met with an unfortunate accident.”

“Well, why didn't he have it replaced?” Bertie asked. He was following Jeeves' movements with rapt attention, looking with open affection at the dark-haired man.

“No time,” Face said, shrugging. Jeeves gave a soft sound of dismay and began measuring again.

“What about your other ones?” Bertie asked, smiling at Face like he expected a story. Face grinned back at him; that good mood was really infective.

“Other what?”

“Other suits,” Bertie clarified, and he moved over to the side-table to fix another round of drinks. He seemed to have a good grip on the shaker. “You don't like them?”

It took them all some time to explain to Bertie that none of the team members owned more than one suit, and that only Face had ever owned a bespoke ditto. Jeeves looked subtly scandalized, and Bertie gaped openly.

“I say, Jeeves! How long do you think I would have escaped Aunt Agatha's wrath if I didn't own a complete set of suits?”

Face was growing excited. He just had to see this guy's wardrobe!

When Face was measured, Jeeves disappeared again and they were left to their own devices for a short while. Then the man returned and asked Face to follow him. Face eagerly followed directions, and returned to the living room a short while later, wearing a charcoal suit with a subtle pinstripe pattern, complete with a sky blue tie and a handkerchief in his pocket.

“Wow,” Murdock breathed, gazing at his friend with wide eyes. The pilot grinned. “My, Facey, ain't you a sight for gods.”

“If you knew what I'm wearing beneath this thing, you'd retract that statement,” Face said, grimacing as he felt the sock garters – actual frigging sock garters – strain against his calves. The braces, which was what Jeeves called the suspenders, were not the cheap clip-on kind one got in modern stores, no thank you. Jeeves had even persuaded him to wear a thin undershirt under the white, starched shirt.

“Do enlighten us,” Hannibal said with a smirk.

“I say,” Bertie said, flushing brightly. “That's a bit drastic, isn't it? Polite company and all, I mean.”

There was a soft, almost fluffy sound, and Face turned to find out it was Jeeves clearing his throat discreetly.

“We have quite a few errands to complete, have we not, lieutenant?” he said, and Face gave the rest of his team a wide grin before following Jeeves to the door, letting himself be equipped with a hat and a pair of gloves. They headed out the door, Jeeves donning a bowler hat and tipping it towards Bertie before leaving.

Face had been in London before, of course, but he'd never seen it like this. There were so few cars, so few people, and so many other things to see! London in the twenties was a much more peaceful place than most small American towns were in the twenty-first century, that was for certain. And with Jeeves' steady presence guiding him, Face found all the things on their list in short order.

When Jeeves began paying for things, however, he voiced a protest.

“I'm used to finding these things on my own, Jeeves, I can handle this,” Face said. He felt really, really good about himself in the suit; the waistcoat emphasized his waistline and the jacket was just a little tight in the shoulders, making him look even more impressive. He wanted to try to scam someone.

“Mister Wooster has given me full liberty of our check-book, lieutenant,” Jeeves said, steering him away from yet another shop window acting as a mirror. “And it would not do to draw attention to yourself by appropriating these items unlawfully.”

“That's why I do the appropriating, Jeeves; I don't get noticed,” Face said, smiling his most charming smile.

When Jeeves merely arched an eyebrow and turned to cross the street, Face was confused. Why didn't that work? It always worked! He'd never met anyone, man or woman, who didn't at least blush a little when confronted with his most charming smile!

“So, this Bertie, what's your deal with him?” Face asked, trying to work his way back into Jeeves' good graces. “You his butler or something?”

“I am mister Wooster's valet,” Jeeves said, sounding most displeased without actually sounding like anything. Face had no idea how he did it.

“But you're partners, right?” Face insisted.

Jeeves seemed to tense up, cast a few discrete glances around him, and lowered his voice so much Face had to strain his ears to even hear it.

“Kindly restrain your remarks on that subject until we are returned to the flat, lieutenant,” he said, voice cold. “A word in the wrong ear could have us both imprisoned.”

“What, me?” Face said, confused.

“I shall explain shortly, sir,” Jeeves said, looked at his own list. “Do you have everything you require?”

On the way back, Jeeves didn't say a word, and Face was getting worried he'd said something really offensive. Hell, he'd never done any research on the twenties; for all he knew, it was considered rude to talk about people being servants. He figured it would be wiser to clam up until they were back in the flat, where Hannibal could save his ass if he said something really stupid.

It didn't happen often, but Face was man enough to admit that sometimes he just screwed up and put his foot in his mouth.

As Jeeves paused to unlock the door of the flat, Face could hear the piano and two voices singing. It would appear Murdock and the loony were at it again.

“You're the top!” Murdock yelled, pointing dramatically at Face as he entered.

“You're the Colosseum,” Bertie sang, playing the piano but looking at Jeeves with a wide grin.

“You're the top,” Murdock continued gleefully, and this time he was hopping into Hannibal's lap. The colonel looked incredibly ill at ease.

“You're the Louvre museum!” Bertie supplied, and his voice was really good. Not Bono good, but with the piano and the obvious enjoyment he radiated, Bertie was quite the entertainer.

The two men continued singing about Waldorf salads and baby grands and other things which didn't seem to Face to be the height of romance, but they got the point across. At the end, Murdock – with his arms dramatically thrown around Hannibal's neck – and Bertie were grinning widely as they sang:

“But if, baby, I'm the bottom – you're the top!”

And Bertie bounded up from the piano and straight over to Jeeves, who had been watching the proceedings with a stony expression, and kissed him very chastely right on the lips.

“Sir!”

“I don't care one jot, Jeeves; I've been wanting to do that in company for years! Can't we go with them into the future? Oh, Jeeves, the things we could do there!” Bertie pleaded, his whole face lighting up with excitement.

Damn it but Face was quickly becoming more than a little infatuated with that smile.

“I really could not advise it, sir. What would your friends at the Drones think if you were to disappear?” Jeeves said, and he looked very flustered – if statues could be flustered.

“I knew you guys were hooking up,” Face commented, taking the basket from Jeeves. The man did his shopping in an actual basket. Enough said.

“Hooking up!” Bertie repeated gleefully, testing the phrase carefully. “Hooking. Oh. Jeeves, doesn't that sound a bit like that thing we do sometimes -”

Jeeves cleared his throat again, still looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I must ask that you do not repeat such things outside of this flat, lieutenant. The consequences would be dire if word was to reach mister Wooster's family and friends.”

“You're in the closet?” Face asked. Funny. That Jeeves guy didn't seem like the closeted type, and Bertie was completely obvious.

“Well, no, only when I'm trying to hide one of my spiffing new ties from Jeeves,” Bertie said.

“No, I mean, you're not officially gay?” Face clarified. The language barrier of old versus new wasn't something he was used to.

“Murdock told me all about it, Jeeves,” Bertie said, and his eyes became dreamy. “If we lived in the future, we would never have to hide! We could... we could get married!”

“Only in certain countries and states,” Murdock added helpfully.

“We would get to march for our inverted tendencies and wear rainbow flags, Jeeves!”

Jeeves' eye would have twitched if the man hadn't been such a human robot. “Please, sir, do not mention rainbow-coloured clothing in the flat.”

“Oh, well, I suppose I'd better have some mercy on your sartorial sensibilities,” Bertie said, a little dejectedly. “But Jeeves! We would never have to hide!”

Jeeves seemed to soften a little. “It sounds... tempting, sir. Incredibly so. But sir, we cannot interfere with the course of history. There is no certainty that we would not disturb the natural line of events.”

“But what's with all the secrecy?” Face asked, pausing to admire himself in the mirror by the door. Damn, that suit really looked fine on him.

“Read a history book some time, kid,” Hannibal said. The older man was still admiring Face's ass in his new outfit. “Homosexuality was illegal until fairly recently in the better part of the world.”

“Two years hard labour at worst,” Murdock said sadly, patting Bertie helpfully on the shoulder. “Social estrangement at best.”

Face grimaced. Yeah, there he went again. Foot, mouth, oh good. “Sorry. Yeah, I can see how that would put a lid on things.”

Then something else occurred to him and he was completely distracted. “Hey, where's BA?”

“Down in the garage,” Hannibal said, putting out his cigar. “Mister Wooster kindly agreed to let him have a look at his car.”

And yeah, Face could see how that would be like candy to a kid with a sweet tooth – a car from the early twenties wouldn't exactly be something BA would ever have a chance to tinker with again.

“Let me take you all out for afternoon drinks!” Bertie suddenly declared, brightening up. “I'm sure we can find something suitable for you to wear, can't we, Jeeves?”

“Sir, the events of history -”

“Pish, Jeeves, there's not much history going on at the Drones club, is there?”

“... True, sir. I believe a brief visit to the Drones would be safe. However, I am uncertain as to how sergeant Baracus would -” Jeeves began, but Bertie waved him off.

“We'll say he's a minstrel out of work, visiting with his American cousins,” Bertie said. “I say, do you think any of your togs would fit the colonel?”

Within short order, Jeeves had chased them all through the bathroom and into the bedroom – unfortunately not with the intention of staying there, Face thought, grinning at Bertie. The young man – who was apparently one of the idle rich – was watching with interest as Jeeves got them all into appropriate clothing, one by one, and the open affection in his eyes when he looked at Jeeves was just heart-melting.

Not to mention, the way he blushed when Hannibal stripped to his underwear was very endearing. Face knew just how he felt.

Murdock, who was tall and slim just like Bertie, fit into a light grey suit without problems. The pilot's messy hair was tamed with something Jeeves called brilliantine, and a dark crimson tie gave the whole outfit a majestic finish. Bertie and Murdock tried talking the dark-haired man into letting them wear matching orange ties with purple polka dots, but Jeeves protested that it would draw too much attention and in the end, they settled for having Bertie wear a dark blue one with pale pink stripes.

Hannibal, who was bulkier than Murdock and Face, borrowed Jeeves' second good suit; a sombre black one. Bertie got his way this time and hastened to secure a bright purple tie around his neck. Face was just dying to comment on the sight of Hannibal in a suit and tie, but he refrained. The colonel looked uncomfortable, but Face knew he wouldn't want to offend their hosts, and the older man had to be as curious as him about what sort of club they were going to.

Did they even have night clubs in the twenties, Face wondered? Wasn't booze illegal back then? He was sure he'd read something about bootlegging and prohibition.

BA was another matter altogether. One of Jeeves' shirts just fit him, and the waistcoat could be buttoned up with a little effort, but the jacket was at least four inches too narrow over the shoulders. Not to mention, that Mohawk would draw a lot of attention.

“Well... How about one of our coats?” Bertie suggested, scratching his head and making his hair stick up a little. Jeeves almost immediately moved to fetch the brushes from the dressing table.

“Why can't I just go without a coat?” BA grumbled, looking at himself in the mirror. “I look like an idiot!”

“But don't you want to come with us to the club?” Murdock asked, eyes wide. “Bosco, they play breadroll cricket!”

“I ain't gonna play no cricket,” BA argued. “I just wanna take those antique wheels downstairs for a spin!”

“If you would try this on, sergeant,” Jeeves said, holding out a jacket that didn't match the rest of the suit but was at least fairly discreet. “I have made a few little adjustments.”

“How the hell did you have time for that?” Face asked, agape.

“Jeeves works in mysterious ways,” Bertie said, and he was fairly _glowing_ with admiration. “We mere mortals must not question his culpabilities.”

“Capabilities, sir. And thank you, but it was merely a matter of altering two simple seams,” Jeeves murmured. His cheeks had almost taken on the barest hint of colour, and Face grinned – he was embarrassed by the exuberant praise.

“Well, come on, chaps, we mustn't be late for the pre-dinner match,” Bertie said, slapping his hands together in a business-like manner. They set off for the door.

“Match?” Hannibal asked, following Bertie out of the flat.

The match, it turned out, was one of breadroll cricket, just like Murdock had said. Face had never learned the rules of cricket (who the hell had? There were maybe four teams in the world cup!), but he quickly understood that the point was to avoid the breadrolls that came flying his way as he watched.

Murdock and Bertie were playing, of course. Hannibal and Face were seated at the bar, each nursing a glass of really excellent whiskey, and BA had taken up a game of pool with some of the local... well, what did one call them? They seemed to be much the same as Bertie – young, unemployed, and well off. And male. There wasn't a woman to be seen in the place.

“What is this place?” Face asked, leaning a little towards Hannibal so the man seated next to them – a small, slumped guy with large glasses and a glass tank standing next to him, of all things – wouldn't hear. “Where are the women, why are they playing sports indoors, and what the hell is that newt doing in the bar?”

“It's a gentlemen's club,” Hannibal explained. “You know those high-end places where you smoke cigars in lounges and play chess with ancient millionaires? They're going out of fashion in our time but I think everyone who was anybody used to belong to a club back then. Uh, now, I mean.”

“I still don't get why the little geeky guy next to you is carrying a newt around with him,” Face said, watching as Murdock hit another breadroll with the bat and half the players began cheering. “Hey, look, I think Murdock won something.”

Bertie and Murdock came tumbling over shortly after that, grinning and patting each other on the shoulder.

“A full century!” Bertie exclaimed, smiling so widely Face was sure he heard his cynicism scream in agony. “He's the best batter I've ever seen!”

Face didn't understand a word he was saying, but it was growing steadily more difficult to not molest this guy. He was good-looking, sure, but it was mainly that innocent joy of life that drew Face like a moth to the flame. He reminded him of Murdock. A lot. Only where people insisted Murdock was crazy, this guy was just considered... eccentric.

Somewhere a gramophone player started up and cheerful music filled the room. BA came to join them and quite a few people stared openly. Face glanced around. Nope, no other ethnic minorities were present. Perhaps this had been a bad idea.

“Fool, you better tell me what this minstrel business is all about,” BA muttered darkly, glaring at Bertie. “Why they asking me to sing stuff?”

“Well, that's what minstrels do,” Bertie said, sounding confused. “Oh! Jeeves said to tell them that you've lost your voice, and that's why you're travelling with your cousins – to restore whatsit to health.”

“But why do they all think I'm a minstrel? I ain't told them nothing,” BA insisted.

“Well, black-faced chaps _are_ minstrels,” Bertie explained, all the while looking as if he couldn't fathom why people didn't know these things. “They paint their faces and sing, or tell jokes, to entertain.”

“Calm down, big guy, this isn't the age of political correctness,” Hannibal said softly, patting BA on the shoulder. “We'll just finish these drinks, and we'll be outta here, right, boys?”

Bertie cocked his head, obviously not understanding a word.

“We'll go back to the flat once we've thrown this down the hatch, what?” Murdock said as if translating.

“Oh, rather,” Bertie agreed, smiling again. “I say, you couldn't teach me a few more of these fruity expressions? They'll make a hit with Tuppy and Bingo when I see them next!”

“I thought you said being a fruit wasn't allowed,” Face commented, scanning the crowd. Nobody seemed to be aware of anything beyond their drink, food or darts game. What a bunch of nitwits.

“Well, I'm not sure you _could_ be a fruit, even if you wanted to. I rather think sir Roderick Glossop would certify you if you tried,” Bertie said contemplatively, then laughed. “You'd probably get a room next to that chap who thinks he's a canary.”

“We're talking past each other again,” Hannibal said with a smirk. “Come on, let's get back to the apartment. Did Jeeves say something about dinner?”

On their way out, almost everyone hailed Bertie and told him to bring “Batty” back soon. Batty was apparently Murdock's new nickname. Bertie grinned his way to the door and called out to someone named Gussie, congratulating him on his renewed engagement to someone. It turned out Gussie was the pale, geeky guy who'd been sitting next to them with the newt tank.

“You know these guys?” Face asked, looking with a certain amount of scepticism at the guys trying to shoot badminton shuttles into the chandelier.

“Oh, rather. I was at school with most of them, at some point or other,” Bertie said. They collected their hats and gloves and left the club, a sort of butler type nodding them out the door. “Though dashed if I know where the rest come from.”

Bertie was a really, really nice guy, Face decided. He laughed and talked, and even if BA looked at him the same way he looked at Murdock when the pilot got his crazy on, nothing seemed to deter the guy from an almost naïve positivity. What was that Jeeves had said, a kind-hearted gentleman? That was about right. Bertie seemed to want nothing more in this world than for everyone to be happy, including Face and the team.

Not to mention, the way he was getting chummy with Murdock was absolutely adorable.

In the cab on the way back, Face had a really hard time keeping his hands to himself. Seated between the two suit-clad crazies, he was hard pressed to figure out what he wanted more; to watch them get naked together or strip them himself. Hell, Hannibal in that suit looked finer than fine, too. Maybe he could persuade his boyfriends to... Mm. Yeah.

So Face was a nymphomaniac, alright? _Geez, get off my case, consciousness!_

Dinner was served with a lot of fuss, Face thought, but then Bertie apologized for the lack of formality, and Face realized this was what passed for relaxed and informal back in the day. They were all wearing suits, there were three courses and coffee and cigarettes – for those of them who smoked – after the dessert.

“How the hell do they make this more formal?” Face asked softly, leaning towards Hannibal. Murdock was busy with Bertie, for which Face couldn't blame him.

“Jeeves is eating with us,” Hannibal said, taking a pull on his cigar. “And we're not in evening wear. You would have loved it in the twenties, Face; five-course meals and tuxes for dinner every single day. You could have had your own manservant, too, like Jeeves.”

“Maybe I'll just stay here,” Face teased, resting a hand on Hannibal's thigh under the table. “Have fun with Bertie and learn to play cricket.”

Hannibal gave him a sharp look. “Leave Bertie alone, Face. I don't think the boy would understand what was going on until you'd already molested him.”

“But boss, he's so adorable,” Face grinned, looking up at the older man with a wink. “Just look at how cute he and Murdock are together. We could just -”

“No, Face,” Hannibal growled, looking over at Bertie and Murdock who were playing miniature golf with spoons and grapes on the tabletop. “You may get to do whatever you want with whomever you want, but Bertie and Jeeves are obviously serious about each other.”

“It's not like I wouldn't ask Jeeves first,” Face protested, but just then Bertie asked them to relocate to the sitting room (as opposed to the dining room, Face noticed with a little stab of longing) for night caps, whatever that might be.

“I say, it's been an absolutely topping day,” Bertie said.

He'd talked Jeeves into sitting with them, so after lighting up the fireplace, Jeeves had gracefully placed himself in a big chair next to Hannibal. The two men were each sipping slowly at a glass of cognac, which Face had never tasted but was looking at with great interest. They were all placed around the coffee table, and Face hadn't felt so relaxed and at home in months.

“Are you quite sure you can't stay for a few weeks?”

Murdock turned his puppy dog eyes on Hannibal. “Oh, boss, please?”

Hannibal looked down into his glass, and Face grinned. Hannibal was as unable to resist Murdock's puppy dogs and pleas as any of them. The colonel glanced up at Jeeves, who was looking at Bertie much the same way Hannibal usually looked at Murdock, and Face knew they had a lot more in common than was apparent.

“Sorry, captain. We've got a job to do,” Hannibal said.

Murdock gave a heartbreaking sigh.

“Time isn't going anywhere, is it?” Face said, placing his hand on Murdock's neck and rubbing gently. “I mean, even if we lived here for years, when we went back, we'd still get out of that cabin in our own time.”

“We would have changed so many things in that time our own time could be completely different,” Hannibal pointed out. “For example, would you have been able to resist killing Hitler if you could easily get to him before he even grew up?”

Face hadn't thought of that, but now that he did, boy, would that have been great. Hitler, Mussolini, Lenin, Stalin, they could kill them all!

“The world would be a much better place,” Face pointed out.

“And the state of Israel would never exist,” Hannibal countered. “I'm not saying these things are right, kid, but we have to avoid changing things. We don't know what the consequences would be.”

“Yeah, yeah, you've made your point,” Face said. He felt bad for Murdock, but mainly he didn't want to go until he'd gotten a chance at seeing what Bertie wore beneath his suit.

“Speaking of, Jeeves, what were you planning on doing with the time machine? Before we arrived?” Hannibal asked.

“It has been my intention for some years to leave it to my youngest niece, when the time was right,” the valet said. “She is a bright child, and I am confident she will be capable of handling the contraption.”

“Then I suggest you do that, and do it exactly as you would have if we hadn't come here,” Hannibal nodded. “And we'll just hope she does everything the way she'd done it in our time.”

Bertie's eyes looked glazed over. The young aristocrat was obviously bored with the whole conversation, but too polite to say anything. When he realized that the technical, boring part was over, he seemed to shake himself out of a trance.

“Oh, Jeeves! I just had a thought. What do we do about beds and whatnot?” he asked, looking over the assembled (and very odd, Face admitted) party.

“The sleeping arrangements do present a slight problem,” Jeeves admitted. “Shall we perhaps put the colonel, lieutenant Peck and captain Murdock in the second-best bedroom?”

“Tosh, Jeeves, I can sleep in your room, what?” Bertie said, grinning at the dark-haired man. “I am familiar with the local fauna, after all.”

Jeeves almost smiled, if the little twitch at the corner of his mouth was any indication. “True, sir. Then we should be able to offer our guests more comfortable sleeping quarters.”

“Don't trouble yourselves on our account,” Face said, letting his gaze grow heated as he looked at Bertie. “We're used to sharing.”

Hannibal glared at him, and Jeeves' eyes darkened, but Face was their Professor of Procurement (he loved that Hannibal had called him that) for a reason. What Face wanted, Face got.

“I'll take the couch,” BA said quickly, looking with dawning horror at Face.

The big guy never did want to join in their little free-for-alls; Face had managed to persuade him a few times, but only for one-on-one. BA was very old-fashioned like that. Which was a crying shame, considering he had more than enough to pass around.

Okay, digression over, his rational mind supplied. Bertie was saying something to Murdock again.

“But how do you manage to, well, with three?” he asked, frowning a little. Adorable.

“Oh, that's easy,” Murdock chatted easily. “Y'see, sometimes Facey kneels in front of -”

“Boys!” Hannibal growled, pulling hard on his cigar. “Mixed company, remember?”

“All settled, then,” Bertie said, grinning at Murdock. The pilot was smirking right back at him. “Jeeves and I take Jeeves' bed, the sergeant can have the other bedroom, and you three may have the use of the master bedroom for the night.”

“Sir!”

“Jeeves?” Bertie blinked innocently.

“Please remember that we have company, sir,” Jeeves said, and he reminded Face of an embarrassed teacher when the class started in on the lewd jokes.

“Well, they won't be offended, old thing,” Bertie said, and his grin was getting a little impish. “They've got all three of them to worry about; I'm sure they don't care two straws that we've got two.”

“Good night, all!” BA called over his shoulder and ran towards his appointed bedroom. They could hear the door slam behind him shortly after.

Bertie's face fell. “Oh dear. I didn't mean to offend, only Batty -”

“Don't worry, Bertie, he's just a stick in the mud,” Murdock said apologetically. He was sitting awfully close to Bertie. “Our Bosco's never been comfortable with sharing.”

Hannibal pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning at the floor. “Boys. Really. I think it's better if we all -”

“You want to hear all about how three... chaps... can have fun together, don't you, Bertie?” Face said, grinning at Hannibal as he said it. “It would be... educational.”

“Oh, rather,” Bertie said, blushing a little. “I mean, I simply don't see how...”

Hannibal turned very demonstratively to Jeeves. “Did you say you were a soldier back in the day?”

“Yes, I dabbled in the Great War,” Jeeves said, and he and Hannibal promptly disappeared into a conversation carried out in soft murmurs and cognac-swirling.

Face turned back to Bertie, and noticed that he and Murdock were conveniently seated to either side of him. “So how do you and Jeeves do it?”

“Do what?” Bertie asked. Completely serious. Oh, boy.

“Express your love in physical terms,” Murdock suggested.

“Oh! Well, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, and I'm not sure Jeeves would like it if I told you,” Bertie said, still blushing.

Face was beginning to get horny for this guy. He loved the blushing innocent-thing he had going.

“So?” Face prompted. “Does he top you? I think Jeeves tops. What say you, Murdock?”

“I would certainly let Jeeves bugger me, if he were my valet,” Murdock said, Oxbridge accent perfectly in place.

Bertie choked on his drink and began coughing up a lung, by the sound of it. “I say!”

Jeeves was by his side in a heartbeat, a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, sir?”

“Quite,” Bertie said weakly, looking up at Jeeves and blushing very hotly. The valet arched an eyebrow. “I, I say. Jeeves, perhaps we shan't go to the future after all. I should look like a boiled lobster every time a chap opened his mouth.”

And the image that projected into Face's mind, brought a wolfish smile to the conman's lips. “Well, it would be a good look for you.”

Jeeves gave Face his frostiest stare. “I beg pardon, lieutenant?”

“I was just remarking on who's the, uh, dominant half of the household,” Face said with a grin. “And then Bertie here began blushing so very charmingly.”

Jeeves' hand on Bertie's shoulder twitched, as if the valet was considering punching Face in his nickname source with it, but then Jeeves' features smoothed out even further and he leaned down to whisper directly in Face's ear.

“Bertie allows me to do anything I please to him, lieutenant... and when I bugger him for the third time in a night, until he begs for more of my prick, he blushes most pleasingly indeed.”

That dark, velvety voice went straight to Face's cock and he was hard in his pants, just like that. He drew a shaking breath, looked up at Jeeves, and found the slightest smirk on his face. Smug bastard.

“If you'll pardon us, I believe it is time mister Wooster and I retire for the night. Shall I lay out our spare pyjamas for our guests, sir?” Jeeves said, as cool and collected as if nothing had happened. At all.

“Somehow I don't think we'll be needing them,” Hannibal chuckled, and Face glared at his CO. Double smug bastard!

“Then we bid you goodnight, colonel, captain, lieutenant,” Jeeves said, nodding to them each in turn. “I shall prepare breakfast at eight tomorrow morning.” Then he left the room – a still blushing Bertie trailing behind him.

The moment he heard a door close, Face let loose the groan he'd been holding back and began yanking at his trousers, trying to get them open enough to get at his dick. “Fuck!”

“I say, Facey, what seems to be the rub?” Murdock asked, and damn if he didn't imitate Bertie's accent so perfectly that Face got even harder.

“Keep talking like that and I'm gonna come in these fucking expensive pants,” Face panted. He reached for Murdock, pulled the pilot to him for a brief kiss, and guided one of his hands to his own groin. “See?”

“Why, Facey, one would think you were ready for a bit of the old sheet shaking,” Murdock said with a grin. He looked over Face's shoulder at Hannibal. “Can we, boss? Please?”

“Not on Mr. Wooster's good sofa,” Hannibal said, getting to his feet, “and not in his good suits, either. Face, c'mon, kid. We're taking this to the bedroom.”

Once Hannibal was closing the bedroom door behind him, Face began throwing clothes off. Usually, when he got this eager, he'd just tear off his pants and his shirt and get to it. But no matter how many clothes he took off, there somehow seemed to be no end to the layers of fabric the three of them were swathed in.

“God damn it!” Hannibal growled, the boss apparently catching up to Face's conundrum. “How do I even get these off?”

Murdock, of course, had learned the art of undressing like a native with the speed of summer lightning; he was already down to undershirt, shorts and socks – and those damnable sock garters – by the time Hannibal and Face began struggling with each other's braces.

“Help a fellow soldier out, Murdock,” Face rasped, braces shoved off his shoulders and shirt refusing to be removed. “How do I get out of this?”

Murdock's fingers began running down his front, and in short order the pilot had both Hannibal and Face as undressed as he was. Then there was the matter of throwing off the rest, and moving to the bed, and not tripping over the discarded clothing on the floor, and generally not giving in to temptation to rut into Hannibal's leg until you came, and...

_And I haven't gotten any for way too long; it's about time!_

“Murdock, where's the lube?” Hannibal growled, kissing Face's neck possessively.

“With the cyborgs back in the future,” Murdock said apologetically. The pilot was too busy trying to get Face onto his back to have much consideration for anything else.

“No time,” Face groaned. “Fuck, please, boss, just touch me already!”

With a low growl, Hannibal leaned over the two younger men, grabbed Murdock by the neck and pushed him down on the bed next to Face. With both of his boys on their backs in front of him, Hannibal could only stare for a moment, taking in the visual feast presented to him. Taut muscle stretched over the hard planes of two lean, battle-scarred bodies, two sets of eyes dark with need just burning up into Hannibal's blue ones – all for him.

“Damn, boys, I love you,” Hannibal muttered, then licked once across his palm before grasping Face's dick. The younger man cried out and jerked into Hannibal's rough grip. When Murdock received the same treatment, the pilot whimpered and turned to Face, pulling the other man close with fumbling hands, begging for a kiss.

Face was moaning into Murdock's mouth. Hannibal's hand on him was burning hot and tightening until he was sure he was going to black out from the pleasure; there was no way a simple hand job could possibly feel this good. Murdock's tongue was sliding into his mouth, anchoring him. Face kissed back and hung on, eyes squeezed shut against the urge to just release and come into Hannibal's strong hand.

“Come on, HM,” Hannibal coaxed. “C'mon, captain, let go.”

“Mmph,” Murdock moaned, lips still locked to Face's. Their commander's rough voice was driving Face insane; the older man was talking them into a frenzy, his words a stronger influence even than his capable hands on them.

“Want to come for me, kid? Come on, now, together. I want to see you lose it in my hands, boys. Now!”

Face couldn't take it anymore; he'd been hot all day looking at Bertie and Murdock together, and with Hannibal's voice in his ear he tore his mouth from Murdock's to gasp for air as Hannibal forced his climax from him. With a shudder he felt Murdock convulsing beside him, felt the little tremors run through the pilot's body as he came apart under Hannibal's grip.

“Hannibal!”

“God, you boys are beautiful,” Hannibal growled, leaning down to kiss first Face and then Murdock. “So fucking gorgeous when you kiss for me.”

“Boss, what about you?” Face inquired through a haze of post-orgasmic bliss. “You want a Murton Delight?”

Hannibal gave an affirmative groan, and Face sat up, tugging Murdock along with him. The pilot didn't seem too eager to actually remain conscious after his own orgasm, but Face kissed him gently and coaxed him to follow the conman's directions until they were both kneeling over Hannibal, the colonel lying back on the bed under them. Cock red and throbbing and – as always – impressive, to say the least.

“C'mon, HM,” Face murmured to his friend, and they leaned down, lips reaching Hannibal's erection at the same time.

As he slid his tongue over the head of Hannibal's cock, hearing his commander gasp for breath, Face grinned and thought to himself that he was a fucking genius for coming up with this particular treat. Murdock seemed to concur; the pilot was eagerly mouthing along the side of the hardness between them. They switched off smoothly, Face's tongue beginning to trace down the underside just as Murdock's lips closed over the crown.

Murton Delight – their mashed names seemed to fit indecently well with this little activity, and Face congratulated himself on his ingenuity.

“I love you, HM,” Face purred, then cupped Murdock's jaw and pulled the other man to him so they could kiss around Hannibal's dick. Their tongues slid over skin, their lips nipping and tasting, and Hannibal's hands fisted desperately in their hair.

_Oh, yeah. I got this._

“Face,” Hannibal gasped, “please!”

Murdock's mouth engulfed most of Hannibal's cock, and Face took that opportunity to suck lightly at his balls. That never failed to bring Hannibal to the edge. Within moments, the older man was groaning, heaving for breath, his pulse racing. Face could feel it. A hard suck later on Murdock's part, and the boss was spilling into his mouth, cursing loudly and moaning their names.

“HM! Fuck, Face, holy... Boys!”

Murdock didn't swallow, but pulled off, leaving a slick trail on Hannibal's dick, before turning to Face, offering the conman a taste. Their next kiss tasted distinctly of Hannibal, and Face was panting when they let up.

“Mm, I love that,” he purred happily, placing a small bite to Murdock's throat. “Tasting Hannibal in your mouth? That's the sexual equivalent of the fine arts.”

Hannibal chuckled tiredly, collapsing back onto the bed. “Stop yapping and come to bed, kid.”

He held out his arms and Face and Murdock crawled up close, all three men eventually finding a comfortable enough position to sleep in. Face drew the covers up over them and his last thought before he drifted off, was that this bed was indecently comfortable.

When Face woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of Murdock and Bertie singing again. This time it was something about cream and love boats, and Face just groaned before burrowing deeper into the pillow. There was a time for silly show tunes from the Golden Age, but this definitely wasn't it.

“Rise and shine, pretty boy,” Hannibal called from the en-suite bathroom. “It's nearly eight and Jeeves says breakfast is ready.”

“Whyyy?” Face wailed into the pillow. It smelled of Hannibal and Face didn't ever want to move. “Just ten more minutes?”

“Get out of bed and I'll let you join me in the bath, kid.”

Face was out from between the sheets and into the bathroom before he'd managed to really open his eyes. Hannibal was lounging in a sizeable bathtub, the water steaming hot and vaguely fragrant as it lapped against Hannibal's chest when he shifted. A small, yellow rubber duck sat happily on the edge of the tub.

“Morning, boss,” Face yawned, stretching, before he slinked over to the tub. “Is there room for me in there?”

“Not really, but when did you ever care?” Hannibal grinned, spreading his legs temptingly under the water. Face watched a small droplet of water run down Hannibal's pectorals to rejoin the bathwater, and decided the only sensible thing to do was to get in there.

“Mm, this is nice,” Face sighed, settling back against Hannibal when he'd managed to lever himself down into the water. It lapped dangerously close to the rim of the tub. “You think we could manage to scam ourselves one of these when we get back, boss?”

“I'm confident you could, kid,” Hannibal purred, wrapping his arms around his XO. “But it'd be better if we got something with room for three.”

All too soon, Jeeves coughed discreetly outside the bathroom door and reminded them that breakfast was served. Once washed, dried and dressed in their own clothing – which Jeeves had somehow found time to wash and iron in the meantime – Hannibal and Face joined the others in the dining room, where a hearty breakfast was heaped upon the table. Eggs, bacon, toast, kippers and tea, as well as a few little pots and jars of jams and other stuff Face didn't recognize, filled the room with a heavenly, greasy scent.

“I say, Jeeves, you've truly outdone yourself,” Bertie declared, beaming up at the other man. “Are those Anatole's special kippers?”

“Indeed they are, sir. He gave me the recipe during our last visit at Brinkley Court. You informed me how much you enjoyed them, and I took the liberty of preparing the dish for our guests, sir.”

“I can see why you love him, Bertie,” Face said with a wink, shovelling some kipper into his mouth.

Jeeves' face flamed spectacularly.

Bertie smiled radiantly and looked up at Jeeves, his eyes practically shining. “You heard the man, Jeeves. It's quite impossible not to love you, old thing.”

As breakfast progressed, even BA cracked a smile and complimented Jeeves on the meal. Bertie informed Murdock that he was usually never sentient at all until half past ten, but that he'd made an exception since they were leaving and everything.

“Only don't tell my aunts, or they'll come round trying to mould me again,” Bertie said with a shiver. “They'll think I'm turning into quite the morning enthusiast.”

All too soon, the team were standing around the little wooden door concealing the entrance to the time machine. Bertie and Murdock were shaking hands with mirroring sad expressions, promising to write. Face just didn't have the heart to point out the futility of even mailing those letters. BA was looking uncomfortable and gruff, and Hannibal reached his hand out to Jeeves respectfully.

“We appreciate all your help, mister Jeeves. And yours, mister Wooster. It's been interesting.”

“Likewise, old chap, likewise,” Bertie assured him, then stepped aside as Jeeves opened the door.

“Murdock?” Hannibal said, and the pilot gazed dreamily at the little panel of buttons for a while before nodding. He pressed a sequence of annoying little beeps and plonks out of the shiny surface, and a gentle hum filled the room.

“It's been fun, you guys,” Face said, winking at Jeeves and blowing a kiss at Bertie before stepping into the little room. Hannibal, Murdock and BA followed him, and the last thing they saw before the door closed between them and the kitchen on the other side, was Bertie slipping his hand into Jeeves' with a wistful expression.

Well, Face thought as they stumbled back out of the old shack they'd come across in the woods some time the day before – or almost a century back and then forth again, depending on your perspective – that was interesting, indeed.

“Well, boys,” Hannibal said, lighting up his cigar. “I think it'd be best if we destroyed this thing right now, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Face said with a sigh. “Though I'd love to just travel a bit first. Just imagine killing Hitler, huh?”

“I'd like to help Leonardo build his airplane,” Murdock added.

“And I'd like to leave you back in the stone age, where your crazy couldn't bother me anymore,” BA grumbled at the pilot.

As they made their way back to the van and then back towards the city, Face noticed something sharp and uncomfortable in his trouser pocket. Pulling it out, he found out it was a key – a key to a safe deposit box. Attached to it was a London address and a scrawled note.

_I'm assuming you're reading this, Face, since Jeeves tells me these are your trousers. This is the spare key to our safe box, Jeeves also tells me. By the time you've found this, that box will contain a few personal memories we'd like you to have, such as the suit that became you so well. I say, do watch a few parades for us, would you? ~B._

Face grinned. “Hey, guys, who wants to go to London?”


End file.
